let the years we're here be kind
by onceandfuturewarlock
Summary: Prompt: "Merlin gets so busy that he actually forgets it's his own birthday. Luckily, everybody else remembers, so Gaius and Gwen convince Arthur and the knights to help them throw Merlin a surprise party!"


"Let the years we're here be kind, be kind,

Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide,

Let our bones settle, like wood, over time, over time,

Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine."

\- _North,_ Sleeping at Last

* * *

Merlin has decided that absolutely everybody in the entire castle is enchanted out of their minds, _again_, and he's the only one with so much as an ounce of sanity left to his name,_ again_, and it's all rather typical, really, when he stops to think about it, because now, of course, he's got to go and find the source of it all, and the sorcerer who cast the evil spell to start with, on his own, by himself, with no one to help, as usual, and also, he'd bet his favorite red scarf the royal prat's already gone and got himself knocked out, sprawled out somewhere like a helpless maiden, just waiting for Merlin to come along and save the day so he can miraculously come 'round right at the end when all the danger is over, and he'll puff out his chest and swing his sword 'round and gripe and grumble about how he had to do everything without so much as a shred of help and he's the only one in all of Albion who even stood so much as a chance with the evil sorcerer, and he has to carry the whole of the kingdom on his shoulders every single day, and of course, Merlin, you're far too much of an idiot to ever understand what that's like—

Maybe Merlin's a touch too cynical about all this.

It's just that's everybody's acting so odd lately! Everybody's so happy, everybody's _smiling _so much more than usual lately, _especially_ around him! It's almost as if everybody knows something he doesn't, or maybe there's this great and big and important secret he can't be in on, he's not allowed to be in on, this special, mysterious thing he can't know about, he's not allowed to know about, and everybody is in on the secret except him, everybody knows about this special, mysterious thing except him, and also, everybody's trying really hard to act like there isn't even any secret at all, and absolutely no one is doing an even halfway decent job of it.

For God's sake, Gaius absolutely beamed at him this morning, and Gaius never looks so happy with him unless he's just cleaned the leech tank, or restocked the astilbe, or something like that, and also, Gaius seemed very convinced that Merlin had every reason to start beaming back. And he let Merlin have honey on his bread for breakfast that morning, and Gaius never lets Merlin have honey on his bread for breakfast, or—well, ever, really.

And then, at noon, Gwen slipped him one of his favorite sweet rolls from the castle kitchens—it was actually rather nice of her, and Merlin would have been quite happy with it, except Gwen never nicks food from the kitchens, for herself or anybody, and gets uncharacteristically stern with Merlin whenever she catches him at it, and insists he's "setting a bad example" for the younger servants, and "the cook worked very hard on those dumplings, Merlin!"

And it only got stranger after that, when Percival helped him polish Arthur's boots barely an hour later, for absolutely no reason at all, and also, when Gwaine passed Merlin in the corridor a few minutes after all that, he winked, and said something about mead, and when Arthur ordered Merlin off to the stables, Leon even said, "Sire, do you really need Merlin to muck out the horses today?" with a very pointed look and overexaggerated emphasis, like today is something really special and important—

Oh. Maybe it _is_.

_That _might explain it, _that_ might be what Merlin's missing, that might be what's got the world turned on its head today—if it's something like Yule, or Samhain, or Beltane, or a solstice or an equinox or—well, no, that can't be right, can it, not now that Merlin stops to really think about things. With no celebrations, no feasts, no time off for any of the servants, not even a special speech from Arthur atop the castle balcony, what sort of holiday is _this _supposed to be?

No, today can't be terribly important after all.

_So, an enchantment that makes everybody happy and really, really nice for no reason, _Merlin repeats to himself, over and over again, except no matter which way he turns it in his mind, it still sounds absolutely _ridiculous_, and there's not even so much as a passing mention of any such thing in his spell book. Magic that makes everybody _happy_? What sort of lousy evil enchantment is _that_?

Maybe it's a trick, maybe it's meant to lure him in, to trap him, to kill him with kindness in a very literal sense of the term—or maybe he's just a complete idiot who can't figure it out, as usual—

Merlin scrubs a hand across his tired eyes and flips, reluctantly, to the next page in his spell book. Perhaps he's missed something. He's never actually read it all cover to cover, never had the time, so maybe there's just something he's overlooked, something he just isn't seeing, something small enough, it's slipped beneath his notice—

The door crashes open, slams back into the wall behind with a sound like thunder, and Arthur Pendragon comes strolling inside like he owns the place and also, like privacy and personal space and closed doors aren't things he should maybe consider.

"Arthur!" Merlin slams the spell book shut, and shoves it under his crumpled nightshirt, still strewn on the floor. "What are you—what are—?"

"Well, you're abysmally late with my dinner for a start," Arthur says, imperiously—oh, that's another thing, actually, Merlin thinks Arthur might not be enchanted, because if all the secret-smiley-special be-nice-to-Merlin magic missed anyone, it most definitely missed Arthur. He's been even more of an insufferable prat than normal all day. Still. At least he doesn't give the spell book a second look. Typical. Too wrapped up in himself to even notice sorcery right under his nose.

"Sorry, Sire," Merlin says, reflexively, and gets to his feet again. He shoves the book a little farther under the dirty shirt with the toe of his boot. "I'm coming." He doesn't have much choice but to follow Arthur out the door. He'll have to come back later tonight, and see what he can find about this mysterious enchantment then.

"And my armor could use a polish, while you're at it," Arthur adds, like an afterthought. "And I'd like a bath as well."

"Right," Merlin says. He has no choice but to hurry through the dinner and the bath, but if he takes Arthur's armor back here, and uses a little touch of magic here and there to speed things up a bit, he'll still have time search up this strange spell again before Gaius gets back from poor Lady Winthrop—

Arthur lets himself into his cavernous, candlelit chambers, and Merlin follows, right on his heels, half in his shadow, and—

—and stops.

"Your dinner's already on the table," Merlin says, stupidly. It's about ten different kinds of ridiculous, but it's the first thing he can think of, the first thing that pops out of his mouth, because it's not just Arthur's dinner that's already in the room, it's—well, it's everybody, Gwen and Gaius and Leon and Percival and Gwaine and Elyan, and it's not so much as Arthur's dinner as a _royal feast_ spread out atop the table.

"Well spotted, Merlin," Arthur says.

"What—what's going on?" Merlin looks between Arthur and the others gathered 'round the food—there's barely enough room for everybody, and Percival's scrunched up a little to make room for Gwaine, and Leon and Elyan keep brushing knees under the table on accident, but everybody looks so happy.

_From the enchantment, probably._ Another little stab of fear jabs at Merlin at the thought. He really, really needs to get back and break the spell before all this can go even farther than it already has.

"Merlin," Gaius speaks up from his seat at the table, and his infamous eyebrow starts to rise, "what do _you_ think?"

Merlin takes a small step back. "I think you lot are enchanted."

Gwaine laughs out loud at that. "Come on, Merls, have a sit-down!" He gestures excitedly to the empty chair at his side.

"I-I have to draw Arthur his bath," Merlin says—he sounds like an idiot, but it's true, isn't it, that's why Arthur dragged him here, right? For his—for a—?

"Merlin, you idiot," Arthur comes up behind him and claps a hand down on his shoulder, "do we really need to spell everything out for you?"

"Um," Merlin says. "…No?"

"Don't be so hard on him, Arthur," Gwen chides, and gets up from the table to come to Merlin, "look at him, he's _exhausted_."

"I'm fine," Merlin says, but nobody pays so much as an ounce of attention to him.

"Yeah," Gwaine throws in, "you worked him like a _hound _today, Princess."

"Right, well, next time, I'll let him laze around all day, and you'll see, he'll walk in while we're still—"

"What's going on?" Merlin takes another step back. He still hasn't quite ruled out an evil enchantment.

"Merlin," Gwen takes his fingers in her soft, warm hand, and smiles wide, "don't you know what day it is?"

Oh. Finally, a question Merlin can actually answer. He nods. "Friday."

Gwen looks, for a moment, as if she's going to laugh at him. She bites down on her bottom lip instead. "Isn't there something pretty special about this Friday?" She raises her eyebrows.

Oh, so there is something important about today, then? No enchantment? _Oh, thank God_.

"I—uh—" Merlin has to think about it. "Well, it's definitely not Yule."

Arthur laughs out loud. "Come on, Merlin, even_ you_ can't be that much of an idiot."

_Definitely _might have been a bit of a strong word. There's snow on the ground outside, after all, even if there aren't any logs or trees or fruitcake. "_Is_ it Yule?"

Arthur stops dead and Gwen's smile drops clean off her face and everybody at the table turns 'round to stare at Merlin, and he has a horrible feeling he just said something very stupid or very bad, or maybe both.

"S-sorry," he says, uncertainly, "only I really don't know what this is all about."

"Merlin," Gaius is the first to recover, as usual, "today is _your anniversary_."

"No," Merlin says, at once, "no, my anniversary's not—not until winter-"

Oh.

Oh, God.

Gaius is _right_.

Arthur starts to laugh again, and this time, he doesn't stop.

Merlin's ears begin to burn. "I've had a lot on my mind lately!"

At least Gwen's got the decency to put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile, and Leon tries, gallantly, to pass a snicker off as a cough, but Gwaine and Percival have no such qualms, and guffaw outright. Even Gaius lets out a quiet chuckle.

"Shall we write 'Yule' on the back of your hand when it's that time of year, then?" Arthur says, when he can finally speak again, and it's _still _a little warped from the laughter. "Samhain, too?"

"Sorry my anniversary doesn't come with an enormous feast and party every year," Merlin says. "It gets rather hard to recall when you're—"

"Oi," Gwaine sits up, "what do you call all this, then?" He gestures at the food splayed out on the table.

Merlin stares at all the dishes for a second—it's not the sort of thing the cook roasts up for a royal feast or anything, but there's chicken and potatoes and strawberries and a whole cake right in the center of it all, and it's more food than he's ever seen in the entire village of Ealdor.

"Wait, this is—" Merlin turns to look at Arthur, "—this is for _me_?"

"No, it's for the other idiot servant who trips over his own boots and can't hold a sword properly." Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Arthur!" Gwen scolds. "It's his _anniversary_!"

At least Merlin knows why everybody's been so nice to him all day.

"He's not any kinder to me on my anniversary," Arthur points out.

"If I was kind to you, your head wouldn't fit through the door," Merlin says. "I'm doing you a favor, Sire."

"Shut up, Merlin."


End file.
